Blacks' Burn Brightly
by AutumnsFey
Summary: Izar loved Magic, he loved it unconditionally, but before he even knew of his magic, he also cherished his Flames. Now, he didn't know what to feel about them anymore, because while his Flames hadn't actually changed, the betrayal of his Guardians had changed him. It was maddening (A Little Side Story to Izar Black).


_**For just over a year, Deathperation Flames had been an integral part of my life.**_

_Looking back now, at all that happened because of them, it sounds strange, but in the beginning, I was so incredibly thankful for them. I had Sky Flames, the rarest class of Dying Will Flames, which meant that those few in the world who possessed them were sought after – and it made me so happy, that at least something was right with me. As soon as I was able to release those brilliant orange Flames, I got a taste of friendship. Or what I thought was friendship. Those precious few which Reborn had chosen as my guardians protected me, and in turn, I protected them. And while my Flames gave me the ability to stand up against monsters I would have cowered from before, while they gave me a chance to fight back, it was my friends that gave me the courage to find out just how far I was willing and able to go for those I loved._

_For that desperate little me from before? Deathperation Flames were a miracle, a gift beyond measure._

_Until, suddenly, they weren't._

_Until, suddenly, it wasn't enough._

I _wasn't enough._

_Those precious Flames that had been the one reason why I had friends, they didn't seem to matter any longer, because the treasured friends I had gained through them, they nevertheless left. Not one glance back, no consideration for any desires but their own._

_But that was normal. I shouldn't be surprised. It was natural, to look out for your own happiness, to discard the ballast that chained you into a place in life you wish to leave behind._

_So why had I expected differently?_

_Life had taught me early on not presume, or to take anything for granted._

_Had I truly become so selfish in such a short time?_

_Maybe. After all, I always believed that Skies were greedy – we considered our friends, our guardians, our elements – OURS. We were the definition of possessiveness. I was told that in the Underworld, the rage of a grieving sky was feared beyond even the Vindice._

_Had I fallen so deep into that trap?_

_I don't know._

_Till today, I'm not sure why they simply left. A part of me is still hurt, but I have tried to burrow that pain beneath indifference and the resolution not to care again._

_For the most part, I did succeed. But the scars didn't disappear, they have become less visibly, but they still remain; just carefully concealed. I don't believe they will ever truly heal. The ache of those loose ends left behind was manageable, but not something I would ever recommend experiencing._

_Losing all your supposed guardians at once … crippling._

_Fuck, at least Chrome, Mukuro and Lambo – at least them, I had honestly expected to remain by my side. Maybe not because I actually mattered to them, but because our interests aligned more than Vongola's did with theirs._

_Lambo wanted a family. I tried to give it to him (Obviously, I failed)._

_Mukuro didn't want to have anything to do with the Mafia – besides watching it burn. I agreed (mostly)._

_Chrome simply followed Mukuro wherever he went._

_I suppose it wasn't meant to be. But what I know now, is that I won't fall prey to that very same mistake ever again. I won't allow myself to use my Flames as a crutch to lean on, a nice illusion of adequacy and safety. Flame bonds were easy enough to discard, and any bond build solely on them could only end in pain and disappointment._

_That kind of disillusionment sticks._

_But magic – magic was different. Magic wasn't a crutch; I didn't build my life around it._

_Magic was breathing. It was my heart beating, my soul thriving. Magic doesn't make me who I am; it enables me to become who I want to be._

_Not a crutch, but a companion._

**That wasn't the whole truth, of course. **But Izar wasn't ready to actually articulate the deeper reasons. It hurt like a bitch, choking out those words alone, but Harry didn't push, he was just there, listening and not judging.

Izar didn't even know how to form the remaining words that seemed to remain stuck in his throat like shards of glass. He wanted to, he wanted to be honest and open up to the man who had saved him so much, but even after nearly half a year of living with Harry, after having shared so much of himself with the older man, there were still topics that made his breath quicken and his eyes blur with tears.

Thankfully, his cousin never forced him to actually put it into words, to give his demons form before he was ready to confront them. He was so patient, it actually made Izar feel even guiltier. He didn't want to remain closed off, to hold back, it was just that …

Mr. Creevey had told him that it was normal. That sometimes, the children in the orphanage wanted to speak up, to explain themselves, but a trauma they didn't even know they had stopped them. Izar wasn't sure that this was what was happening to him, but it sounded familiar.

Still, he was beyond frustrated with himself. Lingering unrecognised trauma? He was a damn Black, and a Black bowed before no one, least of all their own insecurities. Blacks were above such things, and Izar would be damned if his past defined him to such a degree.

" You don't need to be ashamed of anything."

Izar turned around and looked at Harry, but the older man wasn't looking at him. Those green eyes were focused at the night sky above them, starring at nothing with a familiar darkness in their depths that shook Izar out of his introspection.

" I'm not ashamed", Izar murmured, wiggling to settle better against the others chest.

It had kind of become their thing; contact, touching. Harry would run a soothing hand through Izar's hair, or the younger one would climb into the other's lap or lean against his chest, like a child seeking comfort and safety in their parents' steady embrace. He knew that he was too old to cuddle as much as they did, but Harry indulged him, and Izar? He couldn't help it. It seemed to settle an ache in his heart that randomly lit up like a festering wound, crudely stitch together and bleeding through the bandage. But the more they cuddled, the less frequent the pain was, and often now, he didn't seek Harry's presence because of pain or anxiety.

Izar simply wanted a cuddle.

" I'm ...", he searched for a word, sighing as he let his head fall backwards. " Frustrated."

" Don't be. You have made such good progress", came the reply.

Izar snorted.

" You speak as if I was sick."

" In some ways, you were and still are", Harry answered calmly. " What happened, the life you lived, the decisions forced upon you, they left scars and issues on your soul and psyche. It is one thing to intellectually know that something is wrong, but to actually acknowledge it? That is something different. You have done both, and I'm freaking proud of you. But you expect too much too soon of yourself; I'm told it's a Black Family trait, expecting perfection of oneself and holding ourselves to a higher standard than others."

Izar snorted again, because, yeah.

Sounds about right.

Their family, while to others seemingly snobbish and arrogant, was actually full of self-depreciating perfectionist who dealt in sardonic self-degradation and could kind of get bat-shit crazy in their thirst for more; not to mention, Blacks were naturally manipulative and cruel; they cared for their to insane proportions, while the rest of the world could go and hang themselves.

" I know how that feels."

The younger one closed his eyes at those words.

He felt fury rise in his chest, a tight fist of ice and fire, at the mention of what his cousin had been forced to suffer. Even the children-friendly version he had been told was enough to make his blood boil. Sometimes, he wanted to set the entire damn Wizarding World on fire.

But Harry would disapprove. As much as his cousin had been hurt, he would never allow their family to destroy those who harmed him; retribution, yes, revenge, no.

Murdering those assholes would be a waste of good magic, one those mindless sheep could never be worthy of.

Besides, it was bad to kill. Really.

… kind of.

Hell, he was a Black. He was allowed to feel murderous.

And plan one or two homicides a day.

" No murder."

Izar pouted.

Damn omniscient bastard.

" You know, little one, that I haven't told you everything yet. Some things, I will never tell you; some, I still can't actually speak out aloud. And its ok, that will come with time and healing. The same goes for you."

" But I want to!", he burst out. " I want to tell you! But – it – I don't fucking know why I can't!"

" Izar ...", Harry sighed.

Izar continued, he needed to get it out. The sensation of helplessness burned like poison in his veins, tearing him apart between wanting to finally let his past go to rest and exploding with all the confusing and twisting emotions that overwhelmed him.

" If I don't, if I let it go, they win. And I won't allow that", Izar hissed, eyes glaring at the dark sky. " I let them go, Harry, I accepted their decision and I don't regret letting go. But even a world away, they still have power over me. And that – it makes me sick."

A hand suddenly settled on his throat. Nails cut into his skin.

His eyes widened as his breath caught in surprise.

The hand tightened.

" Are you afraid?"

Afraid?

Of Harry?

His family?

" No", he answered truthfully.

He wasn't. He felt no fear, merely surprise and confusion.

The hand loosened and lowered.

" Then you have won."

Izar blinked. " What?"

" You had already won before I even came into your life, Izar. You were always stronger than those you called friends. You allowed them their freedom, you didn't pressure them, and when they left, you picked up your life and moved on. The trust they shattered, you regained. The pain they showed you, you conquered. The expectations they left you with, you discarded and set your own. Whatever actual power they had over you – it's gone. You won. You are not just surviving – you are living."

He closed his eyes as the first tears slipped down his cheeks.

" You will talk when you are ready. Be honest with yourself, know yourself, and they will be completely powerless over you."

It wasn't that easy. They both knew that. But …

It also wasn't wrong. Or impossible.

" I … I don't know if I can ever again open myself to a Flame bond", Izar whispered, articulating what had been scaring him since he realized that witches and wizards, while not necessarily active in the way the Mafia tended to be, were still aware of Flames and easily capable of activating them. They called it Soulfire.

For the Ministry, it was dark. Soul Magic, forbidden and frowned upon.

For the old families it was the pinnacle of control over one's own magic and sense of self, something treasured and to be worshipped. There was no Sky and Earth set, no actual expectations on how person should be based on their element; yes, certain attributes were given to soul aspects like indigo or amber, but they didn't define a person or put them in a box of behavioural rules, like the Mafia's definition of Deathperation Flames tended to – they simply described a set of skills and an inclination. Soulfire was named after colours, but those with amber Flames were called Lords and Ladies, while their guardians were named Knights and Shield maidens. It was cleaner definition, built on over millennia of magical research.

Izar was an active Lord. His introduction to Flames ensured that would always be like the Sky, open and inviting, but Harry had taught him that all-encompassing didn't have to mean that he should let just anyone into his heart; he had a choice, too. The way Reborn had approached selecting Izar's guardians, merely presenting him with a Vongola approved choice that couldn't be changed, was beyond wrong; it could be fatal. Because inn the end, that action was even more dangerous than letting a sky fall into disharmony; if their Flame bond with their guardians was insincere and only one-sided, than the relationship turned toxic and it could poison the sky until they became corrupted.

No one wants a corrupted sky.

He should be glad that his 'guardians' had disappeared before it could go that far.

Harry, on the other hand, was a terrifyingly strong cloud, with a shared secondary of sky and rain. Izar knew that he had started to bond with his cousin, and it scared the hell out of him.

He had been so afraid to tell him, that it had made him sick. But at last, he had managed to gather his courage, and confessed what his Soulfire was attempting to do. To his surprise, Harry had simply smiled and admitted that he already knew.

Izar hadn't known what to think about the simple acceptance.

His cousin didn't want to break their bond, he wanted to see where it went, and Izar honestly thought his heart would stop. A part of him was scared that Harry would leave, too, when he wasn't enough anymore, but his cousin had made it perfectly clear what he thought of such notions; namely, he had been made to write a hundred times the sentence: ' I'm worth to be loved and I will not allow others to make me believe differently.'

And now, here they were, lying on the roof top of number thirteen Grimmauld Place, watching the stars, while Izar had tried to explain his thoughts, only to get stuck in his head.

He knew Harry was right, but knowing and believing were two different pairs of shoes.

He desired the bond with his cousin, despite the panic and fear the mere thought of gaining a new guarding bond brought on, especially after how his last guardian set ended up discarding him.

But Harry was more than a guardian or knight – he was family.

" I think", Harry's voice disrupted his thoughts. " That while you were starting to form a bond with those children, it wasn't a true guardian bond, or at least not a genuine one. You built it on different expectations, and in the end, the fact that they could leave without staying in contact means that it was pretty one-sided. I think … it was mostly amber attraction. You wanted it to be more, they expected it to be more, and all of you named it as such. But Izar, does our bond feel different to theirs?"

" Yes", he murmured. " You are always present, not just when we are actually with each other. I can feel you, and … I don't feel the need to … to ..."

He couldn't find the words.

" To be something you aren't just so you won't be left alone?"

Astonished, Izar looked at Harry. There was such sadness.

" All you need to be, little one, is yourself."

A sob broke free as Izar felt himself be cuddled once more.

The gentle brush of magic against his skin made his own magic and Flames sing.

If this was what having a beginning guardian bond truly felt like, then he had never experienced it before. He had felt something similar, but it – it wasn't reciprocated. For this feeling, he would try. For Harry and himself.

Not matter how scared he was, the scars his former friends left on his soul wouldn't make him hid from life and happiness.

He was a Black, and Black's didn't bow before weakness.

They conquered it.

Viciously.

_**I searched long and hard. I watched my memories, again and again.**_

_And the results?_

_I never had a single genuine guardian bond. What Reborn sold me as guardians, were dependence bonds. We depended on each other for different needs, but that was it. The fact that I hadn't chosen them of my own free will made an actual bonding pretty impossible._

_We weren't compatible enough._

_My Flames gave me much, even if it wasn't anything permanent, back then. But they also took a lot from me. The seal the Ninth placed on me at five disrupted my body's natural functions. The lack of my Soulfire made me listless and distracted, the disharmony invited bullies because even children not attuned to Deathperation Flames felt that I was somehow wrong. The Mafia fucked my life up before they ever officially entered it. Now that the seal was broken, I could think clearer, I wasn't such an easy target any longer._

_But – I also realize that while I loved my Flames, while the bond I shared with Harry was beautiful, sincere and pretty damn awesome … I didn't need it. I loved my cousin for who he was, not for his Flame potential or magic, and I knew he genuinely loved me to. I didn't need my Flames to make friends, or to achieve my own dreams. I would always feel the Soulfire, it would always be just there beneath my skin, curling lazily around my magic, like a protective layer, but ..._

_I wasn't my Flames._

_I was so much more._

_And that – that was like taking the first breathe of freedom._

_~ The End. Side Story, between Pt. II and Pt. III. ~_


End file.
